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alexsarllThere was sufficient rain in the world and sufficient tiredness upon me that I very nearly didn't go see Jason Webley after all - but I realised such behaviour really wasn't worthy of me, and persevered. Although I find the name Favela Chic repugnant, exactly the sort of thing Mugatu's Derelicte mocked so well, and in spite of the bar prices, I have to admit that it's rather a charming venue - like Stranger Than Paradise's previous venue, South London Pacific it's actually an interestingly-designed bar with a good ambience, as against the many London establishments which desperately wish to think of themselves thusly but are in fact an embarrassment to all concerned. Webley played a similar set to last time, but that's no bad thing when it includes songs like 'Dance While The Sky Crashes Down' (which gets a conga going over the tables), 'Drinking Song' and 'Eleven Saints', songs which can get even newcomers involved in a singalong without ever sacrificing artistry or submerging the performer in the crowd. Not that he'd be an easy man to submerge; he's Jesus starring in a Tom Waits biopic. He's also playing again on Wednesday, at Camden's Green Note, though I fear I am unlikely to be there this time.
(Classic Shoreditch sighting on the way there; a man whose white jacket was covered in slogans including "Love Is Never Right Wing", and a diamante CND symbol. Suddenly, conscription seems so appealing)
From its framing scene's distinctly family-friendly Romantics - Byron apparently played by David Walliams, and Mary Shelley most ladylike and proper - it is clear that alleged classic Bride of Frankenstein is actually a disastrous mess. Like Frankenstein it suffers from the impossibility of a first viewing, having been referenced and pastiched so often in the intervening years; unlike its predecessor, it also sucks. Frankenstein and his monster are both brought back from the dead in a manner which outraged even this hardened comics-reader, the tone is all over the place, the plot's confused beyond all hope, and even Dr Pretorius (the EVEN MADDER scientist who eggs Frankenstein on, and who has such promising material as the 'gods and monsters' speech) is played so effetely as to undermine the character's potential. There is precisely one good thing about this film - the Bride herself, who still seems truly unearthly, uncanny in a way so little horror (and none of the rest of this drivel) ever manages. The downside being, she's on screen for maybe five minutes tops. The film about this film is vastly superior, and you don't need to have seen this to appreciate it.
(Classic Shoreditch sighting on the way there; a man whose white jacket was covered in slogans including "Love Is Never Right Wing", and a diamante CND symbol. Suddenly, conscription seems so appealing)
From its framing scene's distinctly family-friendly Romantics - Byron apparently played by David Walliams, and Mary Shelley most ladylike and proper - it is clear that alleged classic Bride of Frankenstein is actually a disastrous mess. Like Frankenstein it suffers from the impossibility of a first viewing, having been referenced and pastiched so often in the intervening years; unlike its predecessor, it also sucks. Frankenstein and his monster are both brought back from the dead in a manner which outraged even this hardened comics-reader, the tone is all over the place, the plot's confused beyond all hope, and even Dr Pretorius (the EVEN MADDER scientist who eggs Frankenstein on, and who has such promising material as the 'gods and monsters' speech) is played so effetely as to undermine the character's potential. There is precisely one good thing about this film - the Bride herself, who still seems truly unearthly, uncanny in a way so little horror (and none of the rest of this drivel) ever manages. The downside being, she's on screen for maybe five minutes tops. The film about this film is vastly superior, and you don't need to have seen this to appreciate it.
